alan pierce
Bio
Recently I published my first novel, The Burning Ones, a sword-and-sorcery-and-cyborg adventure balancing the youthful angst of a coming-of-age story with the realities of a world plagued by war.
Achievements (1)
Stories (68)
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Unchosen
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They had come down from the North on broad wings, beating the air and filling the sky with their voices. They had crawled on four legs, in from the East, lounging amidst the crags and stones they found along the way. They had slithered on their bellies, burrowing with the one pair of arms they had and digging deep dells and caverns. No, there hadn’t always been dragons in the Valley, but their coming had changed everything. Brown and golden backed lizards of immense size and strength, lounging in the sun and the grass, great green wyverns perched on cliffs and rocks, black-bellied wyrms watching with bright eyes from the shadows and dark of the caverns they carved. The old residents of the valley, living in woods and rivers, watched and waited, wondering how the tension would finally break. The valley was big, but not big enough for everyone, and the natural balance teetered on the point of a knife. Maybe now the strong would finally be held accountable for oppressing the weak, or else there was a new breed of strong.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Dear Mom
I remember the day I tried to tell you. I was a senior in highschool, somehow five years ago now, and I suddenly hated the fact I’d been cheating my way through pre-calculus all year. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so guilty in my life. I tried to come clean, because I wanted very much to feel not-that-way. You were having a rough day as it was, and when I beat around the bush about it you asked me if it would help or hurt our relationship, if you really needed to know, and I realized you didn’t. I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry my only thought behind confessing (at the time) was my conscience, and not our relationship.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Confessions
A Last Voyage
The sound of bells clanging accompanied the busy work of sailors all along the busy wharf. Passengers and crew bustled and hurried with parcels and bags, unconcerned about the people they elbowed or the feet they trod on. Those on the receiving end barely noticed anyway; today was a day of adventure, and excitement gripped every soul by the collar of his coat and wouldn't let go. Cold wind from the sea whipped salted breeze and spray into the faces of gleeful children, gazing in wide-eyed wonder at the mighty Titanic. No one had seen a ship like it before, and today was the great day of its launch. Sebastian stared upward with them, his small pack of belongings slung over one shoulder, and his cap pushed back on his head. He whistled and clicked his tongue. It was certainly a wonder to behold. He once again patted his ticket, snug in the pocket of his vest; it was his key to the new world. Sebastian chuckled, sharing with himself in the private joke.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Dig
The soft sound of the shovel scraping in the damp earth was the only thing heard for miles. The noises of the night held their tongue in the late Autumn chill as the man worked, utterly alone in the dark of the woods. His heavy breathing and the relentless sound of the shovel in dirt were as loud as a million motorways for all he could tell, and all the while his heart thumped in his chest. There was no one around to hear, he reminded himself, wiping the ever-present sweat from his forehead. If it was nervous sweat or work sweat he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t care. The work had to be done tonight. The shovel continued on, and the man’s tired hands continued with it. The work had to be done.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
The Hitchhiker
The soothing voice of Leonard Cohen floated from the stereo speakers, and from time to time the glow of oncoming headlights illuminated the driver’s solitary pilgrimage. Ted rubbed his eyes and mused to himself; ‘Hallelujah’ may not be the best song to keep him awake. The view in the rear view mirror was the same dark patch it had been for the past 100 miles, aside from the occasional receding tail lights on the far side of the road. Ted sighed, shook his head quickly, and glanced at the clock in his dashboard. It was only 11:00. He could carry on a little longer. The long and lonely road home for Christmas was a little long-and-lonelier than he remembered it being. His thoughts wandered back over the past few months in the city, and over friends back home and what he hoped might happen. Ted sighed. 400 miles to go. He switched the dial on the radio and found some sort of talk show.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
The Funeral
“The sky was grey, and wept with a soft rain, I remember that much. People hurried through with black umbrellas, barely speaking a word to each other lest they disturb the quiet calm worn by the whole entire city. All across the countless streets and houses a great swell of emotion waited to break at the drop of a hat, and the people waited on baited breath to see what might finally break the stillness. It was almost as if the whole damn city itself knew what today was and responded accordingly. Children had hanged their heads and cats meowed a dirge at all hours and late into the night before. Now it was the morning and the storm of emotion threatened to break now more than ever. There was no telling the depth and extent of all that this city felt at the loss of such a woman. To say they’d lost a great lady didn’t do justice. To say she had done great justice for the city wasn’t even accurate. To say the woman cared deeply for her fellow men-- of all shapes and sizes-- wasn’t enough either. For a long time people had painfully anticipated her passing, gathering in clusters on the street corners by her stately house and whispering, wondering if today could be the day. The revolving staff of nurses and doctors passing in and out gave no answers, avoiding questions from journalists and bystanders, putting a hand up and refusing to comment. Such was the way the city had carried on for weeks, then months, then years, waiting for the old woman to die.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Car Crash
Tracy’s heartbeat stopped. She sat deathly still in the near silence, listening as the engine choked. She breathed out and began to notice how her hands were shaking, still clutching the steering wheel. She had always thought of white-knuckle-grip as just a thing old people say, but hers were actually white. She noticed there was also some red, like blood, starting to trickle down her wrist and onto her arm. She didn’t know how that had gotten there. Tracy began to turn her head, trying to look around, but her neck hurt when she moved it. She ran her hand along her neck and rubbed where the pain was but it didn’t make it feel better. Her hand found the seatbelt and traced it down to where it was buckled in. She tried to press the button but her hand started shaking and she missed. Her shaking hand fumbled with the buckle and finally pressed the latch in with a ‘click’ and the pressure on her shoulder and her chest went slack. The seatbelt slowly started winding itself up but stopped halfway. Tracy turned her whole body to look out the driver’s side window. There was smoke rising in the light of her headlights and the engine was still choking out sounds. She realized the smell she’d been aware of was from the engine and she thought about switching it off. She didn’t really like the idea of sitting in the dark, but the engine worried her. With a trembling white hand gripping her cell phone she pulled on the handle of the door and pushed it open.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Golden Ears
In June of this year we had to put the family dog down. Her name was Roxy, and she was a mix of golden retriever, saluki, and probably a few other breeds. She was the sweetest thing. My mom used to tell the story of when we first brought her home to see if we could adopt her, and how Roxy lay perfectly still as my then 2 year old sister crawled and climbed all over her. Roxy lay on the kitchen floor unbothered while this toddling force of nature used her like a jungle-gym. My mom knew that this was the dog for us, she had to come home for good. So we adopted her and made her a part of the family. Pretty quickly she decided her dominance over our border collie Pepper, and any time a strange dog visited Roxy had to be the boss. But through all the years she never tried to be dominant over us. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say she respected us completely, but she knew who was in charge. People, Roxy, Pepper, all the other dogs.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Petlife
